


Requiem For A Brother

by Zyphlat



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood and Gore, Child Death, Gen, Graphic Depictions of Torture, Torture, death of a minor character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-06-14
Packaged: 2020-05-07 17:06:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19213795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zyphlat/pseuds/Zyphlat
Summary: Sam wakes in a filthy motel room to find his brother missing and no leads as to where he might be. Can he find Dean before it's too late?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was something I did as a writing exercise to work on torture scenes for an original work. It wasn't really intended to be a full story, but it developed that way in the end. Please heed the content warnings. Don't read this if you get upset by the boys going through pain and suffering, I'm not exactly nice to them...  
> As of right now, this piece is complete. I do have an idea buzzing around for a sequel, but it's not currently being worked on.

The first thing he felt was pain. It was everywhere, like fire under his skin. He breathed deeply, slowly, trying to bring the world back into focus as he had been taught. _Breathe through it._ He ordered himself, and the pain receded. Not all the way, not enough, but he could think again. He tried to remember what had happened before the pain, before he woke, and as things came rushing back terror filled his mind and a single name escaped his lips. “Sammy!”

 ***************************

Sam Winchester woke on the floor of the seedy motel room to the smell of blood and charred fabric. Nausea overwhelmed him and he rolled over and retched. His head was pounding and his vision blurred. He felt his head and his fingers came back sticky and warm. He tried to stand but only managed to be sick again on the filthy carpet. Once his stomach was empty and the heaving settled, he managed to push himself into a seated position, leaning against the grimy dresser that took up one wall of the room. “Dean?”

There was no answer to his call. He forced himself up and surveyed the room. Both beds were charred, still letting off rancid black smoke. The bed Dean had chosen, closest to the door, was soaked in sticky crimson. There was no sign of his brother anywhere. “Dean!” Sam cried out again, but no answer came from the empty room.

Fire bloomed in Sam’s side, causing him to double over and retch again. He spat the bile onto the carpet and gingerly checked himself over. He estimated three broken ribs, under a palm-width sized gash in his side, a three inch gash on his head, a concussion, and possibly two broken fingers. Nothing he hadn’t suffered through before, both brothers had been through worse. He moved to the bathroom, finding it untouched. He splashed some water on his face and looked in the mirror; mentally he added a blackened right eye and a gash over the same that would need stitches to his list of injuries. He needed to find Dean, but first he had to clean his wounds and try to remember what had attacked them.

The first aid kit was already open on the bathroom counter, that struck Sam as strange but he was thankful it had survived the attack. With practiced hands he stripped off his soiled shirt and set to cleaning and stitching his wounds. The head wound was the hardest, he couldn’t see it, and he dared not take anything for the pain that might cloud his mind. Instead he relied on the breathing exercises his father and brother had taught him. _Breathe through the pain Sammy, slow breaths, like me._ He could hear his brother’s voice in his head.

Once he was stitched, bandaged, and clean, he moved back into the destroyed motel room and looked around for his duffel and laptop. Miraculously, both were still intact where he’d tossed them on the table. He found a clean shirt and tugged it over his head. Grabbing his phone from a jacket pocket, he hit speed dial for Dean’s phone.

It rang once, and then a familiar voice recording played. “Hey, you’ve reached Dean. I’m not here right now, but leave a message and I’ll get back to ya.”

Sam felt fear swell in his chest. He hit “end” and then tapped the screen to redial. “Hey, you’ve reached Dean. I’m not here right now, but leave a message and I’ll get back to ya.”

Sam cussed under his breath and left a message. “Dean, if you get this call me back ok. I’m worried man.”

His eyes slid back to Dean’s bed, to the blood. There was so much blood. His chest felt like there was a heavy weight on it. He grabbed his duffel and tossed the books and papers off the table and into it. His laptop he slid into its case. _Gotta find Dean._ Was the only thought running through his mind. He shouldered the bag and the laptop and gripped the door handle, stopping short when he noticed Dean’s duffel resting on the floor between his bed and the wall. He snagged the old, worn out, army duffel and shouldered it as well, then walked out into the bright sunlight. No trace was left of the brothers but Dean’s blood soaking the bed closest to the door.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean was chained; his wrists securely fasted above his head, his shoulders begging for mercy, his toes barely scraping the rough floor beneath him. He’d called for Sam until his throat ached, but there had been no answer. Either his brother was back in the motel, safe, or he was chained up nearby but unable to respond…or he was dead. A fresh wave of fury tinged with fear overwhelmed Dean and he fought his bonds, struggling to free himself. He was rewarded only with fresh blood running down his bare arms and the sound of chains clinking above him. He tried to look around, but it was so dark that he could only make out darker shadows. He knew that the room was relatively large and mostly empty, the echoes of his voice had told him that much. He still hadn’t seen his captors.

He remembered finishing up a hunt with Sam, a wendigo, before collapsing into their beds at the filthy motel. After that was just a confused memory of waking up with black shadows hovering over him, blinding pain, smoke, and Sammy’s voice crying out his name. If those bastards had hurt his brother- “Sammy!” Dean’s voice croaked, neither as strong or as loud as it had before. Dean hung limp, defeated. Sammy was either elsewhere or dead, and couldn’t help his brother now.

The sound of soft footsteps echoed around him and his head snapped up, eyes trying desperately to focus. A warm glow surrounded him, lighting the room. Several torches had been simultaneously lit. The room they illuminated proved to be a large cavern. The walls were carved rock, stalactites hung from a ceiling high above, the tips just touching the glow from the torches. Close to the walls, stalagmites sprouted up, reaching for their cousins. Metal brackets mounted to the walls held the torches. A second set of chains were fixed to one wall. A skeleton hung from them, suspended by its arms in the same way as Dean.

At the farthest reach of the torches’ light Dean could just make out a shadowed figure. The creature looked vaguely human, but then most creatures did. It stayed just on the edge of shadow, just out of sight. A shrill whistle echoed around the cavern.

The soft pad of paws on stone reached Deans ears before he saw the footprints. Large, wolf-like prints appearing from nowhere, an invisible beast was padding closer to Dean from the darkness near the creature. The footprints stopped moving closer and a low growl emanated from the spot, a growl Dean recognized, a growl that turned his insides to jelly and sent shivers into his very soul. A hellhound stood before Dean, waiting, menacing growl slowly increasing in volume to fill the chamber and reverberate off the stone walls of his prison.

The creature in the shadows whistled again, shrill and piercing, and the hellhound pounced. It landed on Dean and sent them both swinging from the chain. He felt something give in his right shoulder, felt the monster’s claws rip into his belly, and he cried out in agony. “Sammy!” he cried out. “Cas!” but no one answered his screams.

************

Sam pulled the motel door shut behind him and scanned the parking lot. His brother’s black Impala shined in the afternoon sun in front of him. He closed his eyes. “Cas,” he whispered, “if you’ve got your ears on, Dean’s in trouble. I could really use your help.” He opened one eye and looked around expectantly. When nothing happened he closed his eyes again. “I mean it man, I need you right now. Dean needs you. Please.” Nothing.

With a heavy sigh, Sam walked to the Impala and popped the trunk, tossing both bags and the laptop inside. He went back to the hotel room, searching for some clue as to what had taken his brother. He was starting to remember the night’s events, though it was all still a bit fuzzy. They had stopped here for their latest hunt, a windigo, and decided to crash one more night before heading home to the bunker. The hunt had been long, and hard, trekking through the woods and into a cave to hunt the creature down before burning the bastard. They were both so beat that they’d collapsed onto the stained beds without even showering.

He stepped back into the motel room and looked around once more. A sharp smell stung his nostrils and he gasped and turned to the windowsill. Had they salted the doors last night? He couldn’t remember, but bending to look at the sills he saw no trace of salt. The telltale yellow powder coating the sill told Sam all he needed. How could he have been so stupid?

He remembered now, they’d collapsed exhausted to the beds, each too tired to even take precautions, too used to the bunker and its safety. In the dead of night a noise had woken him and he’d opened his eyes to see a dark shadow looming over his bed. He’d cried out Dean’s name and been thrown to the floor. Dean had screamed. He’d tried to fight, but been picked up by an invisible force and slammed into the ceiling and then the floor, where he’d blacked out.

He punched the wall between the window and door, leaving behind a hole in the drywall and scrapes on his knuckles. Demons had Dean. There was only one person that could help him if Cas refused to answer. A person he swore he’d never call on. His eyes fell on the bed again, the bed covered in his brother’s blood. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed the hated number, 666.


	3. Chapter 3

The hellhound had rocked him violently with its pounce, wrenching his shoulder from its socket. It had dug its wicked claws into his stomach, tearing into his flesh. It had chewed into the meat of his shoulder and ripped the skin. Then, it had simply stopped, jumped down from his still swinging body, and returned to its master’s side. After that, Dean had been left to bleed. He didn’t know how long he’d been hanging there, or how long the creature would wait to return. He suspected it was a demon. What else could control hellhounds? Yet, it still hadn’t shown itself to confirm that suspicion.

The only sounds in the cavern were the steady drip, drip, drip of Dean’s blood to the stone below, and his breath, coming in ragged gasps. The pain was excruciating, but Dean Winchester had been to Hell. He doubted anything this creature could do would compare to the tortures he had survived there at the hands of Alastair. There he had been ripped apart, only to be reborn and ripped apart again and again. There he had felt true agony. Of course, this time was different, here he was flesh and blood, here he couldn’t be glued back together again good as new, here he could die.

After what seemed like hours he had finally stopped swaying back and forth and a new sound began to echo around the cavern with him. It was a muffled whimper. He squinted into the darkness beyond the torch’s flickering orange light. Nothing seemed to move there, nothing but the darker shadows cast by the dancing fire light.

“Hello?” he called, voice hoarse and strained. “Is anyone there?” He heard the whimper again, still muffled. “Who’s there?” He called again.

A figure stumbled into the light, a woman. Her back was to him and he could see her arms bound behind her at the wrist. A gag was tied around her head, softening the whimper that still emanated from her throat. She was stumbling into the pool of light, her gaze fixed on the darkness before them both. As she came closer, her foot caught a stone and she toppled backwards onto the cavern floor just inches in front of where he hung. When her eyes met his, full of fear and pain and confusion, Dean felt his heart plummet into the soles of his feet. “No!” He cried. “No, no, no, no, no, no!” He knew her. He thought he’d saved her from himself. He thought she was safe. She was supposed to be safe. “Let her go you bastard!” Dean shouted into the darkness. “Let her go!”

Dean thrashed, he struggled, he fought like a madman. To be free, to save her, to stop what he knew was about to take place. Drops of scarlet spattered her face and she began to scream through the gag. His voice echoed through the cavern, joining with her terrified screams in discordant harmony. “I’ll kill you, you son of a bitch! I’ll kill you!”

************

Sam let the door of the bunker slam behind him as he entered. Every attempt for help had failed. Even Crowley had ignored his pleas, stating simply that he was busy and to “piss off”. He climbed down the stairs and dropped the two duffel bags near the map table, then pulled out his laptop and attempted to search for Dean’s phone again. He knew the GPS was on, but the phone was either destroyed or somewhere it couldn’t be traced. He’d prayed to Castiel repeatedly, begging him to help. He’d called the King of Hell and begged to know what demon had captured his brother. He’d even summoned a crossroad demon and tried to torture it for information. Nothing. No leads, no signs, no evidence of Dean anywhere.

He ran a shaking hand over his face. He was exhausted. It had been two days since Dean’s disappearance and he hadn’t slept. He needed to eat, shower, and sleep. He moved into the kitchen and fixed himself a sandwich, playing the attack back over in his mind, trying to remember some elusive detail that might lead to finding his brother before it was too late.

They’d been asleep, something had woken him, a soft whooshing sound he thought. He’d opened his eyes to see a shadow looming over his bed. He’d cried out to wake Dean, been thrown to the floor. Wait! A shadow was looming over his bed! Sam ran from the kitchen and into the library, leaving the sandwich half-made and forgotten. Adrenaline pumped through his system. He knew those shadows, remembered fighting them before.

Thumbing through the files of the Men of Letters he quickly found what he was looking for. A file marked “Daeva”. One side of the folder held an all too brief description of the creatures. It was all the information the original Men of Letters had written on this particular brand of demon.

Daeva –  Zoroastrian demon whose name translates to “Demon of Darkness”. Invisible. Summoned. Moves through shadows. Savage and animalistic. Very Strong.

Can be seen by the shadows they cast. Can be dispelled with extreme light. No known method of destruction.

Clipped to the other side of the folder was a page that Sam had added himself, a page that told of the brother’s own encounter with the shadow demons.

“There has to be a way to track them.” Sam told himself. He tossed the nearly empty file down and began a fervent search of the Men of Letters records. There had to be something here, some way to find Dean, something he could do. He searched for hours, finding nothing, energy waning. His stomach growled in protest and he stopped only long enough to retrieve the forgotten sandwich from the kitchen, eating as he searched. As the sun rose above the bunker and the birds began their morning songs outside, Sam Winchester received his only lead. A text message from 666, coordinates to an unknown location and a name “Malleaphar”.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean’s breath came in ragged gasps that sent fire shooting through his torn abdomen. His fighting had gained him nothing more than exhaustion and more blood loss, two things he could scarcely afford. It took real effort to lift his head and look to the corner where she sat, huddled between two stalagmites. Lisa.

She was every bit as beautiful as when he’d last walked away from her, leaving her in a hospital with injuries he had caused and no memories of him or his problems. She was supposed to be safe. Not for the first time his mind raced to Ben, her son, his son for the briefest of moments. He tried to see into the darkness again. Was Ben here too? Would he have to endure losing them both, again? He knew it was his own selfishness that had brought her here. He had gone to her in one of his darkest moments and dragged her into his worthless existence. Somehow, he knew he had to get her away, or at least keep her safe.

Her eyes were wide with fear over the gag in her mouth. She saw him looking her direction and tried to pull herself deeper into the shadows of the columns she sat between. Her fear cut him deeper than any knife. “Lisa?” He managed to croak out, throat dry and sore. “It’s gonna be okay.” She shook her head frantically and turned away from him.

The click of shoes on stone filled the cavern and Dean jerked his head back to the shadows. The world spun for a second before he was able to focus on the man emerging there. He was tall, almost as tall as Sam, and lean. Dean took in his unusual clothing, a white three piece suit with wingtip shoes, polished until they shown in the torchlight, topped by a white fedora with a crimson band the color of freshly spilled blood. His tie matched the hat band and a gold watch chain led from his vest button to a gold pocket watch held loosely in his right hand. His left hand was tucked into his pants pocket. He walked with a casual grace, his eyes focused on the watch shining in his hand.

“What the hell are you supposed to be, Al Capone?” Dean’s voice was rough, but he managed to force a bit of sarcasm into his tone.

The man looked up from his watch and glanced at Lisa before turning to Dean and flashing solid white eyes. Dean flinched away from the gaze. He’d only come across two demons with white eyes, and neither were creatures he wanted to face again. The white-eyed demon smiled slightly, a cold smile that held no warmth, and tucked the watch into the pocket of his vest. He moved forward and produced a set of chains from nowhere, crouching down and securing Dean’s ankles to the floor so he was pulled tightly in both directions. The demon nodded to himself. He straightened, turning away from Dean and moving to Lisa. She tried to get away from him, but she had backed herself into a corner that there was no escaping from. The demon looked at Dean over his shoulder and the cold smile played over his face again as he reached down and grabbed a fistful of Lisa’s hair.

“Leave her alone!” Dean cried, thrashing against his bonds. “If you hurt her I will kill you!”

The demon dragged Lisa by the hair until she was on her knees in front of Dean, facing him. Tears poured down her face and she trembled, muffled sobs pushing through the gag. He pulled her head up roughly and bent to whisper something in her ear. His words made Lisa freeze, fresh panic painted all over her face.

Tears of frustration stung Dean’s eyes and he reluctantly switched tactics. “Please,” he begged, “just let her go. She’s got nothing to do with this!”

The demon looked up at Dean and a knife appeared in his hand. “Dean Winchester.” His voice was calm and his tone even, that cold smile returned. “You don’t know me Dean, but I know you. It’s funny,” he gestured to Lisa with the knife, one fist still tangled in her hair, “she doesn’t know you either.” He placed the knife against her cheek and pressed until a small drop of crimson beaded up on the tip. Lisa whimpered and tried to pull away. Dean tried to throw himself forward, but only managed to swing a little. “You know her though, don’t you Dean?”

Confusion flitted across Lisa’s face, breaking though the pain and fear for a brief moment, and she looked into Dean’s eyes. He felt a tear slide down his cheek and a growl build low in his throat. “I’m going to kill you.” His voice was low and filled with every ounce of malice he could pour into it as he stared into the demon’s eyes.

The demon shrugged and pulled his knife across Lisa’s cheek, cleaving the flesh and eliciting a scream from behind her gag. His white eyes looked up at Dean with no emotion. “I’m going to kill her. Slow.”

************

The black Impala roared through the night, Sam clutching the wheel with white knuckles. He’d been on the road for hours, never letting up, refusing to stop, going as fast as he dared. The days were starting to catch up with him and he knew he would have to pull over soon. He glanced at his phone, 9 hours until he reached his destination. He cranked the radio and rolled down the window, shaking himself. “Just a few more hours,” he mumbled, “then I’ll stop for an hour and sleep.”

A semi horn honked loud and long, Sam jerked awake and saw headlights in front of him. “Shit!” Sam cried. He jerked the wheel to the right and skidded onto the shoulder of the road, sending gravel and dirt flying. Slamming on the brakes, he brought the Impala to a stop and rubbed sleep-filled eyes. Adrenaline pumped through his shaking body and he breathed heavily, trying in vain to calm himself.

Once he’d gotten himself back under control, Sam pulled back onto the highway and started off again. Another hour passed before he saw the motel. He pulled the Impala into the driveway and stopped at the office. The place looked run down, but the glass windows were clean and the office looked tidy. It would do. He shut off the engine and went inside. The girl behind the counter couldn’t have been more than 18. She was cute and friendly and checked him in with a smile.

His room was right next to the office, so he left the Impala where it was parked and retrieved his duffel from the trunk. It was like so many rooms he had stayed in before, though this one was tidier than most. He tossed his duffel on the closest bed and stripped as he headed for the shower. He hadn’t bothered since before the hunt and he was getting to the point where he couldn’t stand his own stink. As he passed a mirror, he noticed the bloody bandage on his side. How long had it been since he changed that? He couldn’t remember. With an angry sigh he went back to his duffel to pull out the first aid kit.

A breath hissed through his teeth as Sam pulled the bandage away. The wound was infected, angry red lines radiated out from his stitch-work. He examined himself in the mirror. The skin was warm to the touch, but not hot, and the wound didn’t seem to be full of puss. He dug out the antibiotics from the kit and popped one into his mouth, then headed to the shower.

Sam let the hot water flow over his body as his mind wandered. The last few days had taken their toll on him, but he could only imagine the tortures his brother was going through. The name Crowley had texted him floated to the forefront of his thoughts, Malleaphar. “I should have looked him up.” Sam growled to himself, punching the shower wall for good measure. He hadn’t bothered to take the time while at the bunker. The message had spurred him to action, grabbing supplies for the journey and jumping into the Impala without a thought for what he was rushing into. Now that he had a moment to think, it seemed like a really stupid decision. He was headed to coordinates Crowley had given him, without a single moment of research or caution.

Sam turned off the water and climbed from the shower, wincing as his movements pulled at the wound on his side. He toweled off and reached for the knob on the bathroom door, planning to replace the bandage and get a few hours rest, but froze when he heard movement in the room beyond. Thinking quickly, he turned on the sink faucet before silently and slowly opening the door.

The intruder had their back to Sam, riffling through his duffel and tossing the contents on the floor. He tucked the towel securely around his waist and lunged forward, tackling the intruder and tumbling them both to the floor in a flurry of tangled limbs. The stitches in his side ripped open and he cried out in pain, fighting harder against his opponent. In moments, he had the intruder pinned and found himself straddling the young girl from the office, naked. “What are you?” He snapped.

“Whatever you want sugar.” She smiled up at him and rubbed a leg against his thigh. Her eyes were solid black.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean flung himself against his bonds like a madman. He screamed. He begged. He threatened. Nothing stopped the steady cutting of the demon before him. At some point in his work the gag had fallen to the ground and Lisa's screams filled the chamber. They echoed off the cavern walls to join fresh screams ripping from her throat in a cacophony that reminded Dean of the racks in Hell. The demon never flinched; his white eyes never left the pattern he was carefully carving into her beautiful face.

A small smile played at the edge of the demon's mouth as he stepped away from his masterpiece for a moment and allowed Lisa to topple to the floor on her side. Her face was a crisscross of bloody lines that seemed to hold no real pattern at all, despite the precision with which he had made each cut. She huddled on the floor and sobbed wretchedly. The demon took a white handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the knife with a delicate grace, then turned his gaze to Dean.

"Why are you doing this?" Dean's voice was a harsh rasp. "What do you want from me?"

Dean was shocked when the demon threw back his head and laughed. It was a hearty laugh, but cold and without any real mirth. "Want from you?" He shook his head and stepped over Lisa to be closer to Dean. One hand snaked into Dean's hair and pulled his head back painfully, the other he sat gently on the ragged remains of his stomach. "I want you to suffer!" The first real emotion, white-hot rage, crossed the demon's face as he pressed hard into the wound. Dean screamed.

The demon put his mouth to Dean's ear and whispered to him. His voice was soft now, one hand still fisted painfully in Dean's hair and while his other hand pressed firmly to Dean's stomach; a bitter mockery of a lover's embrace. "For what you have done," the demon crooned, "you shall pay as no soul has ever paid or will pay again." With a final tug of Dean's hair and press of his wounds, the demon stepped away and retreated into the darkness.

Dean hung for a moment, gasping for breath, and tried to calm his trembling body. It had been a very long time since Dean Winchester had truly felt fear for himself. For Sammy, sure, he was always afraid of harm coming to his little brother, but Dean rarely felt the fear of death for himself these days. Lisa whimpered on the floor and the sound brought out the protector in Dean. His needs came last. He had a life to save.

With all of his strength, he wrenched at his bonds. Once. Twice. Something tore in his shoulder. A third time he jerked and white hot pain flew from his wrist up to his fingertips and down to his elbow. One hand slipped free of the chains above him.

************

Sam leapt from the demon and threw himself at his duffel bag, which had fallen to the floor in the scuffle. In seconds, the Ruby dagger was in his hand and he turned to face the monster before him, ignoring his nakedness and ready to strike.

The demon rose gracefully from the floor and turned to face him, brushing imaginary dust from herself as she did so.

"What do you want?" Sam growled. He held the knife in front of him threateningly.

"Relax hot stuff. I didn't come here to fight with you." She eyed him up and down approvingly. "Though if you want to roll around on the floor some more I can't say I'd complain." Sam glared at her and she let out a disappointed little huff. "Fine, have it your way. At least put some pants on, you're just too yummy for me to concentrate. Crowley sent me with some information on the thing that has your brother."

Sam relaxed slightly and grabbed a pair of boxers off the floor. He kept the knife in one hand and slid them on with the other, never taking his eyes off the demon. "Crowley sent you? Why? I thought all I was getting were the coordinates."

She shrugged. "Heck if I know. I just do as I'm told." She scooped a pair of his jeans off the floor at her feet and threw them at him. "Put some pants on gorgeous and I'll tell you what I do know. Okay?"

He snagged the jeans out of the air and tugged them on, still one handed. He wasn't about to let this creature get the drop on him. He certainly wasn't going to relax because she was flirting while wearing some poor girl as a meat suit. "There. Pants are on. Now, what did Crowley tell you to tell me?"

"All business, huh? Alright fine. Have it your way. Crowley sent me to give you some information on Malleaphar." She shivered a little at the name. Sam nodded and motioned for her to continue. "Malleaphar is a high level demon, white eyes, you get the picture."

Sam's blood went cold, but he managed to keep the fear out of his voice. "I've killed two white eyed demons already. I can handle this one. What else you got?"

The demon laughed. "I know that story Sam Winchester. Don't try to bullshit me. You were so high on demon blood when you fought Lilith that you almost turned into one of us." She flashed black eyes at him. "It won't be that simple this time. You don't know Malleaphar." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. It was old and yellowed. "Crowley told me to give you this. No idea where he got it, but it was sure terrifying news to me. There's not much general knowledge about the white-eyes in the lower ranks. I wish I didn't know what that told me. Personally, I'm going to pretend I never looked at it and get as far from you and yours as possible. I'd recommend you do the same, but you Winchesters are too stupid for your own good by all accounts." She handed him the paper, which he recognized as a scrap of parchment. One edge was tattered as if it had been ripped from a book, a very old book by the look of it.

"Thanks."

She shrugged. "Don't thank me yet, you haven't seen it. Mind if I go now?" She waved at the door behind him.

"Oh, yeah. Sure." Sam stepped between the two beds, out of her way.

She started to cross the room, headed to the door, but stopped when she came level with him. "One word of advice Sam, though I know you won't take it, just give up on this one."

Sam looked at her, her eyes human once again and full of fear. "He's my brother." He said simply. The demon nodded and walked out of the room, not pausing again or looking back.

Once she was gone Sam allowed himself to sink heavily to the bed. He placed the Ruby dagger beside him and gently unfolded the parchment. A slip of modern paper fell out and he placed it on the nightstand, focusing on the parchment first. On it was a picture of six angels. Five of them were at the bottom in a pit of flames, with the sixth in flight above them holding a massive sword. The angels in the pit were screaming. The one holding the sword seemed to be driving them down into the pit. Under the picture was a short description in ancient Greek. "'The Descent into Hell' The Archangel Michael drives Lucifer and his angels into the abyss."

Sam turned to the slip of paper that had been folded into the parchment. It was a note from Crowley.

"Moose-

Thought you'd like to know what you're up against.

-Crowley"

Sam looked at the parchment again, trying to decipher Crowley's message. That was when he noticed that someone had scratched names on the angels in the picture. The one in the air had "Michael" written in fine print on his wing. In the pit were "Lucifer", in the center, with "Sandreel" and "Mickhal" on his left. Sam gasped as he read the names of the angels on Lucifer's right, "Malleaphar" and "Alastair".


	6. Chapter 6

The chain slid over whatever was holding it and Dean crashed to the ground. He held himself up with one hand for a moment, the other tucked protectively to his chest. He waited, not daring to breath, as the echoes of his fall and the chains movement faded. Until the only sound was Lisa’s muffled sobs. He waited for the demon to return.

Nothing. Either he hadn’t heard or he didn’t care. Dean flipped himself over and examined the cuffs at his feet. There was no escaping them. He crawled on his knees and the arm that wasn’t broken as far as he could, just reaching Lisa. Ignoring the intense pain, he stretched out his mangled hand and took hold of her arm. She screamed and thrashed, but he held tight and pulled her to him.

“Shh, shh. It’s ok. I’m not gonna hurt you.” He croaked, shifting into a kneeling position and pulling her into his lap. She fought him, but there was little strength left in her. “Please, Lisa. Don’t fight me. Let me see your face.”

She froze when he said her name and looked into his eyes again. Her face was so covered with cuts and blood that Dean could barely recognize her. She looked so terrified, so lost. Dean’s heart shattered at the sight. He had never allowed himself to love a woman like he loved her. He was so sure he’d saved her, kept her from harm. “Who are you?” she whimpered. “How do you know my name?”

“My name is Dean, Dean Winchester, and that’s a little hard to explain. I know you though, and you used to know me.” He hugged her close, tears slipped down his face. “I’m so sorry. I,” Dean’s voice broke, “I thought you would be safe. I thought you and Ben were safe.”

Lisa let out a crazed whine that started low and gained in volume until she was screaming. Dean had heard the sounds of a lot of pain in his life, but nothing, not even the screams of Hell, had sounded like this. “Lisa! Lisa, what is it?” He shook her, desperate to get through to her, to find out where she was hurting. The cuts on her face couldn’t account for the wail coming from her throat. “Lisa, please. Please stop. He’ll hear you! He’ll come back!”

The scream died out in a ragged way, like she had screamed out her soul and there was now nothing left. She grabbed onto him and began to sob, pressing the ragged remains of her face into his shoulder. He thought she was speaking, but he couldn’t make out the words. Desperate, he pulled her face up to his. The words become clear, horrifyingly, terribly clear. “He killed him! He tortured him! He killed him!”

“Lisa! Lisa who did he kill?” Dean didn’t want an answer. There was only one death that could illicit this response and he didn’t want to know. He wanted to die himself rather than hear Lisa’s hiccuping voice struggle to say the name.

“Isn’t this sweet?” Dean’s head shot up at the sound of Malleaphar’s voice. The demon was standing before them, smirking. He reached a hand down and grabbed Lisa’s head. Dean held tight to her, not daring to let go, willing to do anything to stop her pain. She clung to him, desperate to stay away from the demon. Malleaphar laughed. “Let’s make this a little more fun, shall we?” He crooned, eyes white and locked on Dean’s. He shifted his hand to press two fingers to Lisa’s forehead, then stepped back and watched.

Lisa’s whole body went rigid at his touch, then slumped into Dean when the demon pulled away. Dean shifted to check her pulse, but before he could see if Malleaphar had killed her she shuddered and was suddenly upright again. She looked dazed for a moment and then looked up at Dean.

“Dean?” She studied his face for a moment and then recognition filled her eyes. “Dean! No! No you have to get away! He’ll kill you! He-“ Her voice broke and she hugged him fiercely. “Dean,” she whispered, “he killed Ben.” She broke down into sobs once more and Malleaphar laughed.

************

“What is this Crowley? What are the white-eyed demons?” Sam yelled into the phone.

“Nice to hear from you Moose, I see you got my message.” The King of Hell’s voice came from the other end. “Where are you? We should talk.”

“To hell with that Crowley!” Sam spat. “You can say it over the phone. What is this?”

“Face to face or nothing Moose. I’m not doing this any other way.” Crowley growled.

Sam relented. “I’m near the coordinates you gave me. There’s nothing here! It’s just a patch of National Forest. It stretches for miles.” He looked around himself at the woods and the road. He hadn’t even seen a car pass him for hours. The forest stretched out on both sides of the road, seemingly endless in every direction.

“I’ll be right there.” The line went dead and a rush of air announced Crowley’s presence behind Sam. “Hello Moose.”

Sam spun to face him, pulling at the wound in his side as he did so. “What do you know Crowley?” He growled.

Crowley tucked his hands into his pockets and shrugged nonchalantly. “Not much more than you Sam.” Sam started to shout at him, but Crowley put up a hand to stop him. “Hold it. I came to help, believe it or not. I don’t know much, but what I do know is enough to tell me you won’t rescue Dean alone.”

“I’ve killed white-eyes before Crowley. Now tell me what you know or I will end you.” Sam pulled the Ruby dagger from his belt and held it up threateningly.

Crowley raised both hands in surrender, brows drawn down in an angry frown. “I just said I was here to help and you threaten me? Me?!” With a flick of one hand he flung Sam into the side of the Impala, pinning him there. The dagger fell to the ground. “Now you listen here, Moose. Dean is dead unless I help you. Worse than dead. If you don’t show me just a little courtesy you can kiss your brother goodbye.”

Sam gasped from pain, the wound in his side had broken open from the impact and he could feel the blood soaking his shirt. He nodded. “Sorry Crowley, haven’t slept in a few days.” Crowley released him and he slumped to the ground. With an air of concern, Crowley bent down and helped Sam to his feet.

“Where’s Cas? We’ll need that fool angel if we’re going to have a chance, especially with you barely standing.”

 Sam shook his head. “No idea, I’ve prayed to him but he hasn’t answered.” Sam squeezed his eyes shut. “I’ll try again.” He turned and pressed his hands on the Impala. “Cas I really need you. I’ve teamed up with Crowley, this is big man. Dean’s in trouble, more than we can handle on our own. Please, Cas. Answer me dammit!” He righted himself and looked around. He saw exactly what he thought he would, nothing. He looked at Crowley and shrugged. “See? Nothing.”

Crowley shook his head and took out his cell, pressing a button on it and putting it up to his ear. “You’d better answer your Moose you buffoon. I’m not going up against Malleaphar on my lonesome. I will leave Dean to die.” Then he hung up and looked pointedly at Sam. “Try again.”

Sam heaved a heavy sigh and closed his eyes. “Castiel, I’m hurt and teamed up with Crowley. Dean has been captured by Malleaphar. Come on man.” He opened his eyes and looked around, then turned to Crowley and shrugged.

The low rumble of a car engine filled the air and both Sam and Crowley looked around, startled by the sound. They looked up the road and saw a gold Lincoln Continental speeding towards them. Sam felt like an idiot as the car pulled to a stop and a terrified and angry Castiel leaped out of it. Of course Cas hadn’t answered, Cas couldn’t fly. Sam slid to the ground as Cas ran to his side. He touched the wound and held his blood soaked fingers up to his face. Cas hit the ground beside him just as Sam began to laugh, a half-crazed sound that echoed into the woods around the three. Castiel glared at Crowley before pressing two fingers to Sam’s forehead.


	7. Chapter 7

Malleaphar had left them once again. Dean was starting to doubt he had escaped the cuffs by his own power. Despite the effort it had taken, Malleaphar had allowed him to escape. Perhaps the demon had wanted him to believe there was some hope, before taking it all away.

Lisa was tucked close to his chest. Her sobs had quieted and he thought she might be sleeping. She had to be beyond exhausted. He tightened his grip on her, every instinct within him screamed to protect her from this. How could he protect her from the loss of her son? How could he protect her from the white-eyed son of a bitch that was surely going to kill her in front of him.

He knew this was personal, the demon had been clear on that point. What he didn’t understand was why. Maybe it really didn’t matter, no one was coming to save them and they would likely both die here, but he couldn’t help his mind from trying desperately to work out the why. He had only met two white-eyed demons in his life that he knew of, Alastair and Lilith. Sam had killed both. What could the bastard possibly want from him?

He didn’t realize how tight his grip on Lisa had become until she was suddenly struggling to free herself. He loosened his tight hug and shushed her. “It’s ok, it’s me. It’s Dean.”

She fought him for a moment more before their eyes met and she calmed. Tears formed in his eyes as he saw her bloodied face once again. “Dean?” She hugged him. “I’m so scared.” She whispered, voice muffled further as she buried her face in his chest.

“I know,” he hugged her tightly, “me too.” He stroked her hair. “I’m so sorry Lisa. This is all my fault. You and Ben were supposed to be safe from me.” A tear slipped down his cheek. “I thought you were safe.”

“He came in the middle of the night. I heard Ben screaming and ran to his room.” A choked sob tore from her throat. “I’ve never heard anyone scream like that.” She looked up at Dean again. “There was so much blood. He was so still.” Tears cascaded down her face, into the wounds on her cheeks. She didn’t flinch, didn’t acknowledge them. “Something grabbed me from behind and I blacked out. I woke up in the darkness, bound and gagged. When I stumbled and saw you I didn’t know you Dean. What did you do? Why didn’t I know you? Where were you when he killed my son?”

Dean squeezed his eyes shut, he couldn’t bare the accusation in her eyes. It was his fault; it was always his fault. Why hadn’t he been there for her and Ben? Why had he really asked Cas to change their memories? He had told himself he was acting in their best interest, protecting them, doing his job. Was he really? Or was he just protecting himself? He shook his head. “I’m so sorry.” He repeated. “I asked a friend to erase your memories of me. I did it to protect you both. After that demon possessed you, stabbed you…I couldn’t risk you getting hurt again because of me…” he trailed off, opening his eyes and looking into hers. “I swear to you Lisa, I thought I was keeping you safe by staying away.” He watched her, pleading with his eyes for her to understand, to forgive the unforgivable.

“I remember.” Her eyes gentled, her words no longer filled with accusation. “I remember that thing inside me. I remember you saving us.”

She put a hand on his cheek and he closed his own over it, turning to gently kiss her fingers. “I love you Lisa. I’m so sorry.”

Lisa pulled her hand away slowly. “I’m sorry Dean, I don’t know if I can say the same anymore. I remember loving you, once, but it’s like those memories are separate from me. Like they belong to a different person.”

Dean nodded, feeling his heart clench. “I understand.” She didn’t pull away from him, and he contented himself with holding her, stroking her hair. She cried more, though from the pain of losing Ben or the pain of her wounds Dean couldn’t tell. He offered what little comfort he could.

The click of shoes on stone caused Dean’s head to snap up. He found himself facing Malleaphar once again. The demon smiled a vicious sort of smile, one without mirth. He made a small gesture with his hand and a screech filled the chamber. A metal table was dragging itself out of the darkness and into the pool of light. When it was dead center of the torchlight, right next to Dean and Lisa, it stopped. The demon nodded in a satisfied way and moved to where they sat huddled together on the ground.

“I’m growing tired, Dean.” He rubbed his eyes dramatically. “I’m growing tired of our little game and would like to move things along a bit. Would that be alright with you?” His tone bore exaggerated politeness.

“Bite me.” Dean snarled, locking his arms around Lisa in a vain attempt to keep her from being snatched away from him.

Malleaphar clicked his tongue in a reproving tone. “Now now, Dean. No need to get nasty.” With another gesture of the demon’s hand Dean found himself and Lisa pulled apart. He let out an angry shout as she left his arms that was echoed by a scream from her. He was propelled up into the air, the shackles from before snaking up to reconnect him to the ceiling. Suspended by his arms and shackled at his feet, he could do nothing but scream obscenities as Lisa was lifted by the same force and secured to the table.

“Leave her out of this! Hurt me! Leave her alone you bastard!” He jerked at his bonds, desperately trying to free himself again.

The demon stepped over and placed a hand on his cheek, mirroring Lisa’s gesture from before. Dean jerked his head away. “Oh but Dean, I _am_ hurting you.” The demon smiled again, the same venomous smile.

“Please.” Dean begged, unashamed.

Malleaphar clicked his tongue again. “No amount of begging will stop this Dean Winchester.” His eyes flashed white. “Nothing you can do will stop you from getting what you deserve. No force in heaven or hell will stop me from giving it to you, exactly as you deserve.” His words were full of hate, of anger.

He turned to Lisa and moved around the table until he was opposite Dean with her between them. With a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach Dean watched as a small table full of torture instruments wheeled in under its own power and stopped next to the demon. He recognized many of them, knives and pincers, needles and heated rods, vials of vicious looking substances. Lisa’s terrified gaze locked onto his and he tried desperately not to show the fear he felt.

Malleaphar looked over his instruments, picking out a metallic needle from the pile. “Watch now Dean, watch how your beloved suffers.” With great care he took Lisa’s hand and began to push the needle under the nail of her pinkie finger. Lisa screamed out in pain, Dean shouted for him to stop, and the demon laughed.

When he was finished with her pinkie, Malleaphar picked up a second needle and moved to her ring finger. He continued in this way until Lisa’s screams grew ragged and Dean’s shouts became wordless screams of anger. He only stopped for a moment to move to the other hand, repeating the procedure once again. Methodically moving from one finger to the next.

Dean felt something break inside himself as he watched Lisa suffer. He couldn’t look away, didn’t dare. Inside his mind, he screamed in fear and pain, emotions he would not allow on his face or in his voice. Words, a prayer, formed unbidden in his mind. “Help us Castiel! Please God someone help us!” Never in his life had Dean Winchester felt so helpless, or so alone.

************

Sam’s laughter cut off as he felt the healing warmth of Castiel’s grace flow through him. He was refreshed and the pain was gone. The angel’s fury however was not abated. He grabbed Sam by his jacket and pulled him from the ground. He slammed him up against the side of the Impala and held him there with one hand while the other dug roughly into Sam’s pockets.

Sam glanced at Crowley, who was now several steps away with his hands shoved into his coat. The demon met his gaze and shrugged, pointedly taking another step away from Sam and the furious Castiel.

The angel finally found what he was looking for and held Sam’s phone in front of his face, lighting the screen. Confused, Sam took a moment to read the screen, then looked into the shining blue eyes before him. He had 40 missed calls, all from Cas, and his phone was muted.

“Cas-” Sam began, but Castiel cut him off.

His voice shook with fury. “Three days Sam!” He snapped. “I’ve been chasing you for three days!”

Sam stared at him. “You heard my prayers?”

“Of course I heard your prayers!” Cas exploded. He shoved Sam and spiked the phone on the ground, shattering the screen and blowing the battery out the back. He took a few stumbling steps away and turned his face. His voice was lower when he spoke again, but still filled with fury. “I drove to that hotel as fast as my car could take me. When I got there, you were gone. I saw the room, the sulfur, Dean’s-” his voice broke, “Dean’s blood.” He stopped and shuddered, then rounded on Sam again. “How dare you! How could you pray a prayer like that and then not answer your phone? I didn’t even know if you were alive until you prayed again! I rushed to the bunker as soon as I heard you and again you were gone! You left nothing to tell me where you were going or what was happening! I’ve called and called…” He trailed off and Sam watched as the anger ebbed away leaving only fear behind. “Sam?” Cas paused and took a deep shuddering breath. “Where is your brother? Where is Dean?”

Crowley stepped forward, not close enough for Castiel to reach out and grab him, but close enough to be considered a part of the conversation. “Did you get my messages?” He asked simply, staring at the angel.

“Yes, thank you Crowley. I appreciated the heads up.” He glared pointedly at Sam. “Is it really Malleaphar? I thought he was buried in the deepest parts of Hell, right next to the cage.”

Crowley nodded. “I went and checked personally. His prison was open. Don’t ask me how, there’s been a lot going on in my kingdom lately and I haven’t been thinking about the deeper cells other than the cage. He’s not in Hell anymore.”

“Why Dean?” Sam interjected. “I know none of the demons really like us, but why would this guy break out of Hell and go straight for Dean?”

Crowley shrugged then looked back at Castiel. “Do you know his history?”

Castiel shook his head. “I know he was at Lucifer’s right hand during the fall.”

Sam thought hard, piecing the information together rapidly. “Wait. Are you saying this guy’s an angel? Like Lucifer?”

Crowley and Castiel both shook their heads together. “He’s a demon.” Crowley replied. Sam sighed in relief, but his blood ran cold with Crowley’s next words. “He used to be an angel.”

Castiel made a startled sound and Sam realized the information was a shock to him as well. “What do you mean he used to be an angel?” He growled.

Crowley’s eyes widened. “You really didn’t know?”

“Explain this Crowley!” Castiel snapped, eyes flashing.

“The white-eyes, they’re former angels. Except for Lilith of course. Lucifer turned them right after her. He learned with her, but he perfected his technique with the angels closest to him. Malleaphar, Sandreel, Mickhal, and” he paused for a moment, looking at Sam, “Alastair.”

“Alastair was an angel?” Sam couldn’t help it, the shock forced the words from his mouth.

“Are you stupid Moose?” Crowley snapped. “Alastair was a demon, they’re all demons. Just because they used to be angels doesn’t make them that now. Am I a man just because I _used_ to be one? No! I’m a demon! The King of Hell!” His eyes flashed completely red, just for a moment showing a bit of his true self.

It was true, sometimes Sam didn’t think of Castiel and Crowley as the powerful beings they really were. The four of them, including Dean, had been through so much together. Even Crowley had become a member of the family, though Sam wasn’t quite sure how or when that had happened. Yet, here he was rushing to Dean’s rescue alongside them.

Crowley calmed himself and his eyes went back to normal. “Lucifer tortured their grace until he turned them. Malleaphar was second after Lilith. Rumor has it he maintains some of his angelic powers, though I have no way of confirming that. He’s been locked away as long as Lucifer himself. Before you ask, I checked the other cages, all secure.”

“How did Alastair get free?” Sam wanted to know. How did such a powerful demon remain locked away when another just like him had been freely torturing souls for close to forever.

“Alastair was never locked up.” Crowley sighed. “Don’t ask me for all the specifics Moose. Hell’s always been in turmoil and it’s even worse since you two started messing around in its business. All I know for certain is that this is Malleaphar we’re dealing with and he can end all of us without breaking a sweat.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Castiel interjected. “What matters is getting Dean back. How are we going to rescue him from the most powerful demon ever created?”

Crowley smirked. “Very carefully.”

Castiel opened his mouth as if to respond, but then his eyes went wide and his pupils blew out until only the faintest hint of blue was visible. Sam surged forward and just caught him as he crumpled to the ground. “Cas?!” Sam screamed, shaking him. Even Crowley was on the ground beside them, looking as concerned as Sam had ever seen him.

Castiel blinked, his pupils constricting back to normal, and took a few ragged breaths. “We have to hurry.” He closed his eyes and Sam saw a tear slide out of the corner of them and down his face. “Dean is suffering.”


	8. Chapter 8

Nothing had prepared him for this. Watching Sammy die hadn’t prepared him. Forty years in Hell hadn’t prepared him. His baby brother saying yes to Lucifer and diving into the cage hadn’t prepared him. He couldn’t process what had happened before his eyes. He had been tortured, and he had tortured. He had been through Heaven and Hell, literally. He had been hunted by hellhounds, pursued by Michael, fought through Purgatory, carried the Mark of Cain. Nothing had prepared him for this.

Dean hung limply from his bonds, his face damp with slowly drying tears, his body numb to the physical pain that still coursed through it. The echoes of their screams had long since faded from the chamber. The demon had left her there once her screaming had finally ended. He’d been forced to watch her choke and drown in her own blood. His wrists were bloody once again from his desperate attempts to free himself. This time, the chains had not given way with the breaking of his bones. If anything, they’d become tighter. He could barely feel his hands anymore. A part of his mind told him that the loss of sensation was bad, that he may lose his hands before this was over. He couldn’t bring himself to care.

His gaze moved to the table.

He started at her face, which was now a crisscross of torn flesh and blood. Her hair was a tangled mess beneath her head. He moved his eyes down to her chest. She was naked now, her clothes had been torn to shreds under the demon’s touch.  One of her breasts lay open, sliced neatly in two. He couldn’t help but continue to look. It was added torture, but he couldn’t stop. The demon had disemboweled her while she screamed, then laid her insides on her pelvis with care before moving to her toes and removing them one by one. Her hands, what was left of them, lay beside her.

He moved his gaze back up to her face. Her expression was almost peaceful now. If not for the blood and ichor she could have almost been sleeping. He tried to imagine her sleeping. He tried to look past the mess the demon had created and see his Lisa, radiant and happy. She would lay on the bed beside him and smile, stroking his bare chest with a lazy finger, curled into his side. He formed the image in his mind perfectly, studying her ruined face, seeing past the truth to a vision of what she used to be. His vision was colored with red, even his daydreams refusing to see past the nightmare before him.

A primal growl bubbled up from Dean’s core, carrying with it a rage he didn’t know he could possess. It filled his whole being before erupting from him in a sound that was barely human. It seemed to drain every bit of what was left of his energy, leaving him hanging limply from his bonds amidst the dying echoes of his fury.

As the last of the echoes faded, a new sound took up their place. The sound of a scuffle, then footsteps on the cavern floor. Dean didn’t bother to lift his head as they approached. He knew his end was near.

************

Sam struggled through the thick underbrush of the forest, fighting to keep up with Castiel. The angel had shrugged him off and darted into the woods just moments before. He seemed intent on a spot ahead of them, pushing through the forest without regard for the noise he was making. Crowley trailed behind them, keeping up easily. “Cas!” Sam called. “Cas stop! We have to think this through!”

Castiel stopped suddenly and turned to him, eyes flashing. “Think it through?” he spat, “Dean needs us Sam! Now! You don’t understand the pain he’s in!”

Sam took a deep breath, prepared to defend himself, but Crowley stopped him with a firm hand on his shoulder. “Deep breath Feathers. The Moose is right, we can’t rush in here.”

Castiel glared at him. “What do you suggest then Crowley?”

“I suggest we see what we’re up against. Slowly and quietly.” He nodded in the direction they’d been heading. “Let me scout ahead, I’ll see how many guards he has and report back.” In a blink he was gone.

Castiel turned haunted eyes to Sam. “I can feel his pain Sam. I’ve never felt him in pain like this.”

Sam nodded and patted the angles shoulder. “We’ll get him back Cas.” There was a whoosh of air and Crowley was back, looking grim. “How many?” Sam asked, bracing himself for the worst.

Crowley frowned. “None.” He shook his head when Sam started to speak. “Hold it Sam, it won’t be that easy. I found a cave entrance a little ways ahead. There are no guards, but there are a plethora of wards. No angels or demons will be getting inside anytime soon. If you go in there, you’ll be on your own.”

Sam nodded and they all moved, headed for the cave. It turned out to be a small opening in the side of a rock wall, nothing anyone would notice if they hadn’t been looking for it. It was pitch black inside, and not a sound could be heard around them. Even the animals were silent here.

“I’m going in,” Sam looked at both of them. Castiel’s mouth was set in a grim line, but he nodded. Crowley just shook his head and leaned against a nearby tree, hands in his pockets.

“Find a way to break the wards Sam, don’t try to face Malleaphar on your own.” Castiel placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder and gripped it tightly. “We’ll be waiting to rush in as soon as they’re down. Be careful.”

Sam nodded and ducked through the entrance and into the cave. He looked back twice, at the dim light of the opening, before darkness swallowed him. He crept through the pitch blackness, one hand sliding along the cavern wall in an attempt to keep him on his path. It seemed like a lifetime he was alone in the dark, no sound save his own breathing, no light to guide his steps. After awhile he began to see a flickering glow of firelight ahead of him, and he headed towards it with great care.

He ducked down close to the wall as a sound filled the air around him. It swelled in volume, crashing off the walls in a terrible crescendo that echoed against itself. It was a primal scream, filled with anger and barely human.

Sam forced himself to stand, to move closer to the light once again. He found the edge of the light as the echoes faded, a ring of torches on the walls which made the cavern’s dead end glow. Terror filled him upon seeing what the torches revealed at their center. He took a deep breath, but before he could step forward a hand grabbed his hair and jerked him backwards. Before he knew what was happening his arm was jerked behind him until he felt it snap and he was stabbed in several places in quick succession. His legs buckled beneath him and he hit the ground hard. In seconds found himself bleeding on the ground as a rough hand lifted him by the hair and dragged him into the torchlight.


	9. Chapter 9

A whimper reached Dean’s ear, a sound he knew better than the beating of his own heart. A sound that had woken him many times from a dead sleep. A sound he hated, feared, and would always answer. Sammy was here, and in pain.

His head snapped up and he felt himself recoil from the sight before him. There, on the edge of the light, stood Malleaphar. At his right side on all fours was Dean’s baby brother, the monster’s hand fisted in his hair. Sammy’s body was wrecked. Blood dripped from several gaping wounds and his right arm was curled into his chest protectively. The rage surged inside Dean once again. He came to life, fighting, snarling, cursing the demon holding his Sammy.

The demon ignored him, moving instead to the table holding Lisa’s body. He saw Sam look up, saw his eyes widen at the site of her, saw him frantically search the room before he found his brother. Dean stilled. He opened his mouth to tell Sammy that it was going to be okay. To quell the fear he saw in his gaze. No sound came out. He couldn’t say the words. He knew they were a lie. They would both die here, bloody, like Lisa. He dropped his eyes to the floor.

“Dean?” Came Sammy’s voice, quavering, unsure. Dean didn’t raise his gaze from the floor. “Dean.” Sammy’s voice again, stronger this time. Dean heard a thud and a struggle, but didn’t look up. “Dean!” Sammy again, urgent, strong. The third time forced him to look into his brother’s eyes. The demon had pushed Lisa’s body from the table and strapped Sammy in her place. Dean felt terror speed through him, but there was no fear in his brother’s gaze. “It’s gonna be okay Dean. I’m here.”

Malleaphar stopped mid-buckle and stared at the youngest Winchester. Then he threw his head back and laughed. He laughed until he was half bent over Sammy. When he straightened, his eyes glistened. “I had heard so many tails of the famous Winchesters.” He paused to wipe a tear from his eye. “Tails of their fearlessness, their self-sacrifice, their bond.” He secured the final restraint with a rough tug. “I was starting to doubt them after playing with your brother here Sammy-“

“It’s Sam.” Sammy interrupted through clenched teeth, his eyes never leaving his brother’s.

The demon paused, then moved to his tools. “Forgive me, Sam, I will try to remember.” He flashed a smile that Sammy didn’t see and placed a hand on one of the cruel hooked knives. “I must admit, Sam, you intrigue me. You should know Dean that your brother seems far more-” He paused, holding the knife up to the torchlight for a moment before shaking his head and replacing it. He picked up another, this one straight and serrated. “-collected.” He finished his thought and moved to Sammy’s side with his chosen instrument.

“Please,” Dean managed to croak out. “please don’t hurt him.” He looked into Sammy’s eyes and tears spilled down his face. Sammy just looked back at him, calm and fearless.

“It’s okay Dean.” He repeated. “It’s gonna be okay. I’m here Dean.”

Malleaphar shook his head again and pressed the knife slowly into Sammy’s chest. He drew a bright red line against flesh exposed by shredded clothing. Sammy clenched his jaw and refused to scream. Malleaphar smirked. He pulled the remnants of Sammy’s shirt aside and pressed the knife in again, this time to his stomach. The knife went deep and Sammy grunted, but he didn’t cry out and his gaze never left his brother.

Malleaphar’s smile fell. His face contorted into anger and he dug the knife into Sammy’s thigh, tearing through muscle, tendon, stopping suddenly when he hit bone. A tear leaked from Sammy’s eyes, his body convulsed, he grunted, but still he didn’t cry out and his gaze never faltered.

Dean watched, amazed at his baby brother’s strength. The demon growled in another tongue. Dean didn’t need to know the language to recognize obscenities. He threw the knife at the tray and pulled a sledge hammer from underneath. He hefted it and brought it down on Sammy’s knee. Dean cried out, but still Sammy only grunted.

“It’s going to be fine Dean.” Sammy said again through teeth clenched in pain. “I’m here Dean. We’re going to be okay.”

The demon howled in rage and brought the hammer down on Sammy’s other knee, then his right arm, then his left. Sammy clenched his teeth and his eyes squeezed shut for a moment. When he opened them again he locked to his brother and, through tears, repeated. “It’s gonna be okay Dean.” A small amount of blood trickled from his mouth and Dean realized he must have bitten through his tongue.

Malleaphar screamed and threw the hammer towards Dean. He heard it whoosh as it went past him and heard it hit the wall and stay there, never falling to the cavern floor. Malleaphar turned to the table and grabbed a small hooked knife. He plunged it into Sammy’s leg above the knee and worked it under the skin. With a twist of his wrist he shifted the knife and began to cut the flesh from him. Sammy flinched, he grunted, he bit down on his tongue again and more blood trickled from his mouth, but he did not cry out.

Malleaphar flung the knife at the table, scattering the knives, needles and other wicked instruments of his pleasure to and fro. He grabbed the table and flipped it upside down. Then he turned and walked into the darkness without another word.

Dean let loose a breath he didn’t know he had been holding and watched Sammy do the same. “Sammy? You hangin in there bro?” Sammy clenched his eyes shut and nodded, allowing his head to turn towards the ceiling and away from his brother. His body convulsed slightly and he whimpered a little. “Where is Cas? He with you?” Sammy shook his head ‘no’. Dean pulled at his bonds, but they didn’t budge. He watched Sammy, tried to judge how hurt his brother was. His knees and parts of both arms were crushed. He had a gaping hole in his belly and thigh and cuts just about everywhere else. Even if Dean could free himself there was no way Sammy was walking out of here under his own power, and Dean knew he didn’t have the strength to carry him. “Sammy. What are we gonna do?” Sammy shook his head again.

Dean heard a flutter behind him. Sammy opened his eyes and looked in the direction of the sound, only to gape in shock at what he saw. Dean tried to turn.

“It really is always wrong place, worst time with you mutton-heads, isn’t it?” Said a familiar voice. Sammy laid his head back on the table and began to laugh.


End file.
